


Not With Money

by Lurlur



Category: Gentleman's Wager Series
Genre: 18 Minutes of Whiskey Adverts, Age Difference, Falling In Love, Food, Friends to Lovers, Having someone take care of you for no reason, M/M, Milan Fashion Week, Miscommunication, Modeling, More tags to follow, Singing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 05:40:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26348002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurlur/pseuds/Lurlur
Summary: Jude is a model working the biggest show of his career to date. He's at the height of his popularity and everyone wants something from him. When he meets Giancarlo at a fashion week afterparty, he isn't prepared for the ways in which his life changes.
Relationships: Giancarlo Walker/Jude Walker
Comments: 7
Kudos: 3





	Not With Money

**Author's Note:**

> Lur, wtf are you writing about? It's the hot new fandom, dudes. Get on board this ship while we're still building it! [A Gentleman's Wager](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e4393i2-OWk) and [A Gentleman's Wager II](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1TgSW9EjnqE).
> 
> Thanks to my feral Whiskey buds, and EdnaV for their excellent Italian insights!
> 
> I know nothing about fashion but I have watched a lot of Next Top Model so that's got to count for something?

Jude doesn’t trip that sunny Spring afternoon. He doesn’t find himself held firm about the waist by a man with gently laughing eyes and more stories than he could listen to in a lifetime. They pass by each other without a second glance and none the wiser for what they missed. This is a different story, a love story still, just a different one.

Jude first walks at Milan Fashion Week when he is 19, booking three shows for up-and-coming designers. He shares a room with four other guys and changes flights in Stuttgart to save money. He tells himself that it’s an investment in his future, he needs to be making the effort to get his face seen by the people who matter in fashion.

There must be some truth in this because he gets a call from his agent a few days after getting home; Armani want to meet with him and there have been enquiries from a few other big fashion houses as well.

He doesn’t land the Armani campaign, not that year, but he does get some high profile shoots with Fendi and Prada. The rest of the year seems like a whirlwind that never ends. No matter how high his career soars, Jude is always the most fond of Milan Fashion Week.

He’s 27 now, his looks and grace are still highly sought after by designers. Versace have secured his appearance this January and appear to be very keen to impress him. From his first class flight to the generous hotel suite, they’ve spared no expense, and that’s not even mentioning his fee. It’s a world away from his first time, he uses that thought to keep himself grounded. His world is so fickle and fleeting, he could lose it all in an instant. Jude never lets himself forget that.

For the first couple of days, he enjoys the event as an outsider. He watches a few shows, has the occasional glass of champagne at an after party, meets a great number of people—one or two he might actually speak to again—and generally has a good time. The night before the show, he attends the last-minute fitting without drama, and puts himself to bed early. Jude is a professional, he won’t give anything but his best for the designers who hire him.

The show passes in a blur, as it always does. Jude doesn’t look at anyone in the audience, he keeps his focus and does his job, showing off the signature menswear pieces to their best advantage. He strips off the jacket at the end of the catwalk and slings it over his shoulder. Someone off to his left wolf whistles, earning a laugh from other spectators. Jude doesn’t react, his face doesn’t so much as twitch as he spins and heads back up the catwalk.

As soon as the show is over, another group of stylists descend on him; prodding, tugging, primping, and teasing until he meets some unknowable set of standards. Attending the Versace after-party is part of his contractual obligations, and he has to look the part from top to toe for his brief moment in the spotlight.

He arrives with Donatella Versace on his arm, although it rather feels the other way around. She gives a few press-friendly soundbites while he stands beside her, looking pretty. He’s a prop, a living mannequin with a currently popular face. As soon as they make it inside the party, Donatella disappears off to hold court with her adoring friends. Jude can’t help feeling like she’d have checked him with her coat if it had been an option. He takes a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, more for something to do with his hands than for the drink; he’s not eaten in over 36 hours, alcohol isn’t a great idea. It’s all part of the role he’s filling this evening: stylish, attractive, at his ease, effortlessly magnetic.

There doesn’t seem to be anyone nearby that he knows; all the other models are either at another party or in the bathrooms, doing lines of coke. Another timeless classic that never goes out of fashion. Jude considers the venue, wondering where the lighting is best for him to stand and be decorative.

“Jude! Tesoro!” A woman calls out to him as he’s taking a sip of champagne, startling him into gulping a mouthful.

He catches sight of Anna just before she reaches him, her arms held out for an embrace. Smiling genuinely, Jude hugs her, leaning down to kiss each of her cheeks in greeting.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” Jude says, relieved and delighted to have found a friend. Anna was one of the first Italian designers to book him and he’d walked in several of her shows since then, forming a working relationship that had blossomed into a friendship.

“Well, you’re too busy working for the big houses now, no time to remember your old friends!” Anna laughs as she teases Jude, reassuring him that no feelings are hurt. “Come, tesoro, meet some people, have some fun.”

He lets her shepherd him towards the group she had been standing with, making space for him beside her.

Anna introduces him to David, an American photographer, Sofia, a junior designer with a smaller fashion house, Giancarlo, a manufacturer of high-end textiles, and Emily, a British actress. Jude smiles and nods with each introduction until Anna refers to him as “the criminally pretty model who only gets more breathtaking with age.”

He blushes noticeably, feeling the heat in his cheeks as he turns away to try and hide his reaction. It always feels different when these comments come from friends. The actress scoffs, clearly suspecting false modesty and turns to continue her conversation with Giancarlo. Jude only wishes he was capable of blushing on cue. David and Sofia graciously make enquiries about Jude’s work and background, letting him know that they had seen the show and admired his poise. It’s all he can do to shrug off the praise, he’s forever caught between the self-doubt that all he does is wear clothes and look good, and the knowledge that modelling is far more involved and taxing than most people realise. Even with Sofia and David having industry experience, he feels that he should deflect and minimise any praise directed his way.

“Anna, I saw your show yesterday,” he says, trying to redirect the attention. “You have some remarkable pieces, I would have loved to have walked in it.”

“And I would have loved to have you be part of it, but now you are too popular for the likes of me.” Anna pouts dramatically as she takes Jude’s empty champagne flute and replaces it with a fresh one.

Just as Jude fears that the conversation is going to return to focusing on him, Sofia makes a comment about some of the trends they’ve seen emerging this season and Anna jumps onto the topic like a starving tiger.

They talk for a while, hopping from subject to subject with enthusiasm and energy. The group becomes rather fluid, people drop in and out at random with introductions being made as necessary. Jude is enjoying himself more than he had expected, he meets new people, catches up with old friends, and feels like he’s really part of something electric for a while.

After listening to an actress he’s not familiar with talk about her recent award win for long enough to be polite, Jude casts a wary eye at his empty glass. He’s not been keeping count like he should have been, and Anna keeps handing him new glasses whenever he’s been running low. She’s been dragged off to meet a shoe designer who’s being touted as “the next Louboutin”, leaving Jude with only the snotty actress and the textiles maker from their original group.

The latter of the two leans into Jude’s space with a conspiratorial look.

“You look as bored as I feel,” he whispers, “I’m going to the bar, feel free to come with me.”

It’s difficult not to smile at the humour in the man’s voice, Jude barely manages to suppress a full-on grin as he nods. The man, Giancarlo, he thinks, excuses them from the conversation and leads the way over to the bar.

He orders a whiskey, something specific that Jude doesn’t quite catch the name of, before turning and looking Jude up and down like he’s appraising him.

“Water, perhaps?” he suggests, “Or maybe they have something that might sustain you?”

Barely believing what he’s hearing, Jude stutters a few syllables before managing to ask for sparkling water with a slice of lime. Giancarlo looks vaguely disapproving but orders the drink anyway.

“You should still eat, I think,” he says after handing Jude his drink, “You look like you might fall down at any moment.”

Jude frowns briefly and touches the back of his hand to his cheek, feeling his temperature and for the clamminess that always precedes a loss of consciousness. He feels fine, the man is just fussing, he decides.

“I will, later,” Jude says dismissively. Giancarlo raises an eyebrow but it’s less of a question and more of a challenge. “I can hardly stand around here eating something, this is still work for me.”

This seems to placate Giancarlo, at least a little. Jude sips his water and tries not to sway where he stands. He really hadn’t meant to drink this much at all, but now all he can do is power through it and not let it get any worse.

Giancarlo is looking around the party, no doubt deciding who to spend his time with next. Jude doesn’t fancy being left alone, but his other options appear to be clinging on to Giancarlo or returning to the snotty actress. Anna is nowhere to be seen and he’s not sure where Sofia and David have gone, but he’s pretty sure they went to a different party.

He takes a step away, just so he isn’t lurking at the bar, just as Giancarlo walks off. Something in the way he bursts into life makes Jude watch as he crosses the room. He looks like a man on a mission, like he’s seen a wrong that needs righting immediately. Jude sips his water again, appreciating the determined way Giancarlo moves through the crowd right up until he realises Giancarlo’s target.

Donatella Versace is sitting on a stool, as poised as a statue, and laughing with her ever-present entourage. Giancarlo breaks through without pausing and Jude watches like it’s a car crash. Everything slows to a crawl as this damned textiles merchant marches up to the one person that Jude doesn’t want to make waves with.

To his surprise, Donatella smiles and embraces Giancarlo like an old friend. He hadn’t got the impression that Giancarlo moved in those sorts of circles at all, he’s completely at a loss. Wanting to look away, to do anything to make it seem like he’s ignorant of what’s happening across the room, Jude stares until both Donatella and Giancarlo turn to look at him. Too slowly, he finds something else to look at, feeling the blush creeping up his cheeks at having been caught.

He’s about to bite the bullet and head back to the actress with the attitude problem just to avoid being so exposed to those looks when Giancarlo breaks away from Donatella and fixes Jude with a stare that pins him in place. He doesn’t dare move until Giancarlo is back at his side.

“It is sorted, you can leave with me, if you wish.”

Jude’s mouth opens uselessly, no words come out. Giancarlo laughs kindly and takes Jude’s free hand, tucking it into his elbow.

“What?” Jude finally manages.

“You’re so easily startled, like a rabbit,” Giancarlo says with a gentle smile. “I spoke to Donatella, she is happy for you to leave now, to relax and eat if that is what you wish. I can take you somewhere that you will love.”

Jude glances towards Donatella but she’s back to talking with her friends, no longer interested in what he’s doing.

“All right,” Jude says, “let’s go.”

“Drink your water first, please,” says Giancarlo, a suggestion that Jude feels he should follow.

He swallows down two large mouthfuls of ice cold sparkling water and puts the glass back on the bar with a smile for the barman. All the while, his hand is still tucked into the crook of Giancarlo’s elbow. If he moves to take it back, he knows that Giancarlo will let him go without fuss, but he doesn’t want his hand back. He likes it just where it is.

“There,” he says, indicating his empty glass.

Rolling his eyes, Giancarlo smiles and pats his hand before leading him out of the party. Jude follows, trying not to feel like a child being sent to bed while the adults stay up. There’s no denying that Giancarlo is looking after him, that he’s seen the state Jude has let himself get into and decided that someone needs to take charge. Maybe Jude has got a little too used to doing as he’s told, having other people make decisions about what he wears, how his hair looks, where he goes, but Giancarlo is making these decisions because he’s recognised a need in Jude. It’s different.

The air outside is warm still although the sun sank below the horizon some time ago. Giancarlo walks briskly, that same purpose in his step as when he had approached Donatella. Jude is taller, his stride longer, but he still has to make an effort to keep pace. He really doesn’t want to feel as though he’s being dragged along.

“Ah,” Giancarlo pauses suddenly, “perfect.”

He changes direction and Jude follows, wondering if he’s going to remember the way back to his hotel when all this is done. They cross the street and just as soon as Giancarlo brings them to a stop again, a tram trundles up and lets them on.

“I don’t fancy the walk,” Giancarlo says with a shrug, “I’m far too old for all that.”

A moment later, the tram lurches forward and Jude stumbles right into Giancarlo. Dropping Jude’s hand, his arm wraps around Jude’s waist as quick as a flash, holding him upright. He’s so solid and steady that Jude almost forgets how to breathe. This tram ride is most assuredly not because Giancarlo didn’t feel up to walking, Jude realises, he was just protecting Jude’s ego.

It’s a short trip to Brera, Giancarlo points out a few landmarks along the way, letting go of Jude’s waist to gesture as he speaks. The attention and kindness is more than welcome, Jude thinks as Giancarlo ushers him off the tram at their stop. When he offers his elbow, Jude doesn’t think twice about tucking his hand back into that warm space.

“Just a quick snack, then I’ll let you go,” Giancarlo says as they arrive outside a cosy looking restaurant. “Osteria del Calcetto have panini so delicious, you’ll want to kiss the chef.” Jude’s stomach rumbles loud enough to make Giancarlo laugh, mollifying Jude’s mortification a little. “Not a moment too soon, I think.”

They are soon seated and looking over the menu. Jude can barely read Italian but he’s already feeling like enough of a charity case that he doesn’t want to ask for help picking what to order as well. He recognises enough words to be able to pick out a panino he thinks he’ll enjoy, something with salami and mozzarella, he even manages to order it without making too much of a fool of himself with the pronunciation.

The alcohol is still making him a bit wobbly so he errs on the side of caution and orders a bottle of water. The muted look of approval that flashes over Giancarlo’s face at that decision does nothing to settle Jude’s nerves.

“Thank you for this,” Jude says after their waiter has delivered their drinks, “I might have been trapped there for hours, just wasting away to nothing!”

“Ah!” Giancarlo dismisses the notion with a wave of his hand, “Nonsense, you might have become a little more drunk, a little less well-behaved, perhaps. Nothing more than that.” He looks at Jude with an assessing eye, every inch the shrewd businessman for a moment. “You are drunk and hungry, I thought this would be more pleasant. Was I wrong?”

“No,” Jude allows, “you weren’t wrong.”

It’s difficult to meet his eyes then, Jude doesn’t really want to examine why.

Their food arrives and it’s just the distraction that Jude needs. It’s the most he can do not to fall on the sandwich like a starving wolf, tearing it to pieces with his teeth. He’s only as reserved as he is because he’s very aware that he’s still wearing the suit he was loaned for the event. Stains are unlikely to make him popular with the designers.

Two bites in and Jude tastes something that makes him recoil slightly. He peels the layers apart and finds the offending tomato slices, pulling them out and stacking them on the plate before taking another bite.

“Something wrong?” Giancarlo asks, amusement rippling through his voice.

Jude swallows and has to take a mouthful of water before he can respond.

“I don’t like tomato,” he says simply.

“So why did you not ask for it to be omitted?” Giancarlo seems genuinely curious in Jude’s reasoning.

“I didn’t know it was going to be in there.”

Giancarlo frowns, takes a bite of his own panino, and chews thoughtfully.

“It was on the menu, but, ah, you do not know the word for tomato in Italian,” he nods to himself as if he has solved a mystery. Jude feels like he’s been caught misbehaving. “You could have asked me to translate, although, I suppose you did not want to be thought of as needing the assistance.”

Jude gives a guilty shrug. Giancarlo seems to be carrying on both sides of the conversation quite capably on his own.

Taking another bite to distract himself from the character deconstruction that Giancarlo is performing, Jude feels the filling begin to slip. His hand immediately moves to catch the spillage, protecting his clothes at any cost. A blob of mozzarella drops into his palm, safely away from the suit. Putting his sandwich down, Jude licks his hand and looks himself over, checking for any stray drips.

“What is this about?” Giancarlo asks, paying far too much attention to what Jude’s doing.

Jude wipes his hand with his napkin, looking up to see Giancarlo’s quizzical expression.

“The suit,” Jude says with an explanatory gesture at himself. “It’s not mine.” He doesn’t think he’s acting strangely, no one wants to get food on themselves.

“I have never seen someone eat so self-consciously,” Giancarlo says carefully, “this should be a pleasure, a relaxed time. If you spill, you can just blame me. If it stains, you can blame me twice.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that to you,” Jude says dismissively.

Giancarlo looks at him, wipes his hands on his napkin, and reaches across the table to stroke the lapel of Jude’s jacket.

“I’ve thought all night about how well you look in me, my work, I mean.” For the first time, Giancarlo appears to trip over his words, his cheeks colouring a little at the innuendo his stumble creates.

Jude looks down at his outfit again, not understanding what Giancarlo means.

“It’s Versace,” he says, somewhat stupidly. Giancarlo chuckles.

“Yes, the design is. The material is mine. I approved every inch of their order before it shipped. There’s not a single piece of the suit that I haven’t touched.”

The thought fills Jude’s mind, coupled with the dark velvet of Giancarlo’s voice, and causes a shiver to run down his spine at the implication. Then, something else occurs to him, rather later than it should have.

“Oh shit, you’re Giancarlo _Walker_?”

“Yes,” Giancarlo confirms with a nod, “were you not aware?”

Jude stares blankly, trying to reconcile this new knowledge. The kind, funny, flirtatious man who had held him on the tram and insisted on feeding him is, in fact, one of the richest and most successful men in Italy. He’s not just some random textile manufacturer, he’s _the_ name in Italian textiles, known for producing the finest materials in the country. All the big fashion houses want contracts with his company, he’s as big a name as most designers in fashion circles. The fact that Jude even knows the provenance of the fabric of his suit is unusual, except that it’s noteworthy by virtue of being from Giancarlo.

In short, Jude feels very stupid.

“I suppose I hadn’t put that all together quite yet.”

“Does that change anything?” Giancarlo asks, lifting an eyebrow. Jude considers this.

“Not really,” he says, worrying at his bottom lip. “I _really_ don’t want to make a mess of this suit now, though!”

“Ah!” Giancarlo throws his hands up in dismay. “You learned nothing!” He’s laughing as he says it and that relaxes Jude more than anything.

Conversation is sparse for the rest of the meal with the food deserving near undivided attention. When he’s finished, Jude does a quick assessment of himself. He’s still drunk, but not at risk of collapse or anything truly foolish, he’s in good spirits and enjoying Giancarlo’s company, and his stomach is pleasantly full.

“I suppose it would be a sin for me to suggest dessert to you?” Giancarlo’s question is more of a tease than anything else. Jude is at his limit for carbs by now so he declines. “Ah, just the bill then.” He gestures at their waiter, smiling warmly as he asks for their bill to be brought over.

Before there can be any awkward dancing around who is paying, Jude reaches for the money clip in the inner pocket of his jacket.

“My treat, please,” Giancarlo says as soon as he sees Jude with money in his hand.

Although he knows this is just a kind gesture, Jude struggles with the idea of being indebted for even just a sandwich. He shakes his head a little more vigorously than his brain likes, determined to make a point.

“No, I pay my own way. I insist.” Jude digs his metaphorical heels in. Giancarlo has been a perfect gentleman all night but so had several others over the years. It’s easier to just insist on even the slightest purchases, he’s learnt.

“I take you from the party, drag you half-way across Milan, practically choose your meal for you, I simply could not let you pay. It would be an insult to my honour.” Giancarlo sounds solemn as he speaks but his eyes are dancing.

“I’m sorry, I have trouble with feeling like I owe people for things like this,” Jude tries to explain, feeling his brain struggle to find the right words. “I like to keep a clean slate.”

Giancarlo’s face twists in concern, perhaps jumping to the right kind of conclusions. Jude doesn’t want to talk about that.

“You won’t owe me anything, Jude,” he says softly, “This is merely me settling my debt to you.” Jude knows he’s making a face and he’s sure it’s not an attractive one. Giancarlo seems to want to smooth over this misunderstanding further. “Perhaps you would feel better if you earned your meal somehow?”

Jude balks immediately, sitting back from where he had been leaning into their conversation. The blood drains from his face so quickly that he swears he can feel it trickling away.

“No, I’m sorry,” Giancarlo holds up his hands in apology, “I misspoke. Forgive me, please. I only meant in a game or wager, a silly idea, and now I’ve offended you.”

He looks so horrified with himself that Jude can’t help forgiving him in an instant. He’s surely just flattering himself too much; Giancarlo is attractive and warm and friendly, Jude’s imagination is running riot on a few glasses of champagne and the memory of a firm hand on his waist.

“A song,” he says impulsively, “I won’t buy the sandwich with money, I’ll buy it with a song.”

Leaning back to look Jude up and down, Giancarlo smiles and nods.

“A song? Very well, you must impress me with your song to win that fine panino from me.” As he speaks, Giancarlo slides a couple of notes into the small leather wallet, taking care of the bill and tip.

Knowing that he’s no singer even on his best days, Jude spends a moment trying to think of what will impress Giancarlo. A stunning vocal performance is out of the question so perhaps he can surprise with something else. Jude knows exactly one song in Italian, but he knows it well having heard it endlessly during his time here.

“ _A meno che non stia davvero,_

 _pensando solo a te ogni respiro,_ ” he begins softly, speaking more than singing. Giancarlo’s eyes go wide in surprise but he suppresses any further reaction so Jude continues.

“ _Ogni momento che vivo,_

_Ogni momento che vivo,_

_L'unica per me le altre le vedo,_

_Le altre sì che le vedo._ ”

Giancarlo snorts behind his hand and Jude grins, warming to his song.

“ _Ma te ti sento dentro come un pugno,_

_Quando ti vedo ballare,_

_Vorrei morire.”_

A few people are looking over, smiling at Jude as he sings. The next part is louder and more energetic and Jude is ready for it.

“ _Lai la la la la la la fammi ve-_ ” Just as Jude is settling into the rhythm, Giancarlo grabs his wrist, laughing.

“Oh, you really do not know Italian, do you? You win, coniglietto, you win.” He releases Jude’s wrist and holds his hands up in surrender.

“What? Why? What was I singing?” Jude asks, laughing along.

Giancarlo reaches over and pats Jude’s cheek gently.

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

Claiming responsibility for Jude being in an area he doesn’t know, Giancarlo insists upon seeing Jude safely back to his hotel. There’s a brief flicker of a moment where Jude considers inviting him up for a drink or to spend the night. He can’t deny the attraction, even if he can’t explain it, but something makes him hold back. A flicker at the back of his mind that suggests there’s the chance for something much more valuable than one night. He bids Giancarlo goodnight, kissing him on each cheek fondly and trying not to hold on too long.


End file.
